What our hairstyles say about us

Hair matters

That self-image is tied up with hair, I knew. It’s a near universal preoccupation. However, it wasn’t until I saw an exhibit of photographs by the late JD ‘Okhai Ojeikere that I understood what hair can achieve.

‘Okhai Ojeikere was a successful Nigerian photographer, best remembered for an art project where he documented hair fashion in Lagos from the Sixties on. The photographs show a black head against a simple white background and what emerges is a work of art that carries clues to history, regional pride and even infrastructural changes in a modern society.

Some of the braids draw inspiration from nature: crabs, flowers and rain that comes cascading down over the ears. But many styles also document the way in which human effort in one field, like engineering, leads to inspiration in another, like fashion. Hair is fashioned into shapes inspired by suspension bridges and skyscrapers, which became common only after buildings started to get tall in the late Sixties.

I was astounded, not just on account of the time and labour involved in creating such hairdos, but the fact that this was everyday fashion. Many young women wore fantastic styles on the street and to work, which is how the photographer spotted them. Other styles were created for special occasions like birthdays and wedding celebrations.

There is no denying, of course, that hair is linked to economic status and power. If you’re wearing an elaborate style, chances are you had help with it, and if you maintain complex styles on a daily basis, chances are you need help very often. If you can’t pay a professional to do it, you most certainly have help within the family.

Still, it must have really mattered to each individual for a culture to invest so heavily in hair. I cannot think of a parallel in India. Even the wealthiest and most fashion-conscious among us do not wear the nation’s architectural or engineering triumphs on our heads.

Braiding is not big here, at least not in the mainstream. There are some tribes like the Kalbelia and the Lambadi, and there is recreational braiding at places like Dilli Haat or on the beaches of Goa. Besides, the straight hair aesthetic is dominant and looking neat is prized above looking fantastic.

Even so, men express themselves via hair and headgear quite often since they are not allowed much leeway with clothes. Vivid colours and patterns still raise eyebrows. Even in rural areas, men stick with whites, blacks or solid colours. But on their heads, the rules begin to dissolve. Turbans don’t have to be sober and on caps, embroidery, zari, even mirror-work is permissible. It is, perhaps, a sign of deep cultural anxiety that men do not wear traditional clothes to work.

For hair too, most urban young men take their cues from the West. A little shaved off at the sides or the back of the skull, a floppy lock down the forehead, spikes, a bun or a ponytail: all of this is starting to be accepted within the straitjacketed corporate ensemble. A few men wear one slender braid while the rest of their hair is short. Younger men seek colour to stand out in a sea of indistinct brown mops. They lean to blond or blue. It is also an indication of status. Even the worst sort of peroxide job is an assertion of how a young man imagines himself – he will spend on small luxuries and is not looking to melt into the crowd.

Like all art, hair styling offers the gift of illusion. Many men grow their hair long if they work in creative fields. It suggests non-conformity no matter how boring the individual is. Dreadlocks, for instance, suggest that a man can’t be bothered with brushing his hair when, in fact, he is more bothered than most about his appearance. Artistic men actually stand to gain from looking un-groomable and careless. A friend who worked in advertising wore a ponytail down to his waist because, he said, it was good for business. It suggested creativity. The clients assumed that his personality would rub off on their products.

However, braids and beads may well be the last taboo. The desire to self-decorate is still seen as an undesirable quality for men, and at the workplace, for women too. We labour under the tedious assumption that those who draw attention to the self, who express a longing for drama, are not very good at their jobs. So, many of us spend a lot of money trying very hard to look a tiny bit different, but only just the tiniest bit.

I remember the first time I got myself a `2,000 haircut at a fancy salon run by a celebrity hairstylist. It was a treat to myself for having survived a bout of malaria. I wanted to feel alive, so I asked for something “different” and the hairdresser – she wore her résumé, so to speak, with an asymmetrical bob and coloured streaks to boot – gave me a cut that looked exactly like my regular three hundred rupee haircut because, “This is you, isn’t it?”

I was sitting in the lap of luxury and feeling like an utter fool. A film star, male, sat in the next chair. He was getting a haircut that looked like something a barber in a fifty-rupee shop could do. He gave me the tiniest smile in the mirror.

I have since sworn that the next time I spend `2,000 on my hair, it had better look like a damned work of art and make every head turn across the length and breadth of the city. I shall photograph it and thus document for posterity what a little money and leisure can achieve when thrown together with imagination and insight.

Annie Zaidi is a Mumbai-based playwright, author and editor. Follow her @anniezaidi